FEBRUARY 15, 2008 - VOL. 1, ISSUE 2

We watch Paul Thomas Anderson's There Will Be Blood as we might in a sociology seminar. Any discussion of the film disregards any talk of artistic merit. There is no discussion of craft or form, and no mention of failures in storytelling. We are constricted to talk only of its content, that is, its commentary (or how good Daniel Day-Lewis is, what?). This is a class on issues, the teacher tells us, we will discuss only those that are under the purview of the course. Immediately I want to leave the conversation. The sterile discussion is indicative of a sterile film. As in a high school literature class, it is simply accepted that Charles Dickens' work is unimpeachable. Hard Times is important because it deals with the horrid conditions of an industrializing England, and that is what we'll learn. Never mind the fact that the book cuts corners with its character development and lets brevity fall far to the wayside, it is an "issue story."

Greed and power is dealt with, so they are technically our issues here. It is difficult to say they are at the heart of the movie because the movie seems vacant of one. That is not to say a film must uplift, but it must be a labor of love, and Anderson shows no love for his characters. He is born out of Robert Altman, but seems to have missed the late filmmaker's point. Where Altman may have been cynical towards his characters, he never alienated himself from them. Anderson puts a high wall between himself and the early 20th century oil man Daniel Plainview, so high that we question whether Anderson has anything personal at stake at all. It rang so false that I found myself laughing at Daniel Plainview, embarrassed for Daniel Day-Lewis's unrestrained performance during his pseudo-religious pseudo-conversion and the infamous milkshake scene.

It was the same feeling I felt for William H. Macy and Tom Cruise in Magnolia, for Julian Moore's cringe-inducing performance as a wailing woman, and Adam Sandler in Punch-Drunk Love. I may have smiled at Warren Beatty in Altman's McCabe and Mrs. Miller when he shows us he is not the tough guy he purports, but there is never an issue of Altman acting above him. It is a moment of extreme humility that the audience, the filmmaker, and the character were all made aware. Anderson cuts one out, or both, and ends up coming across as empty and meanspirited. Altman seems to say, "Look at this awful person, this is how we are." Anderson, wall and everything, seems to say, "Look at this awful person, this is how you are." He fancies himself the torchbearer of Altman's legacy, but he is merely clawing at his feet, unsure how to wield the tools his hero crafted.

This is dangerous territory. It steeps the film in false legitimacy, it fools its audience into believing the filmmaker has something to say. When you peel back its facade, you see the puppet strings attached from the characters to Anderson's hands, but he is looking completely the other way. His brand of hollow filmmaking is given a voice in Daniel Day-Lewis's Daniel Plainview. Plainview is a capitalist, doing what capitalists do in early America: buy land and exploit it for profit. He is portrayed as a good force in the community, but we know at heart he is a bad man. In fact, it is the only thing we need to know to understand the simplicity of Daniel Plainview. He is a bad man, he craves power, he is dirty, he is slovenly, he is a cartoon archetype that shows us at every point in the film exactly what he is after.

Power becomes the crucial element that spirals our characters, our glorified set pieces, down the oil derrick. Daniel is confronted by the young spiritual pillar of Eli. Eli is as hollow as Daniel, both seeking wealth and power over the community that we hardly ever see. The two men spar over who has the upper hand throughout the film. Daniel showcases his shrewdness when he refuses to pay Eli's church after getting the tip from him that oil exists below their feet. He exploits the opportunity given to him by Eli, and when Daniel needs to buy land from a parishioner of Eli's, Eli forces Daniel to humiliate himself and convert to the church. The moment, supposed to be one of the film's most tense, is of little consequence. Daniel shows no difficulty in doing this act, he shows no disgust, he shows nothing, and neither does Eli. The scene is emotionally devoid and gratuitous in its flailing attempt at high drama.

This flailing is the most painful element of the reckless storytelling that pervades There Will Be Blood. It is an exercise in undisciplined filmmaking, as all of his films have been thus far. His camera moves as if unmotivated, not roaming around a theatrical stage-like set as Altman had, but simply gliding for the sake of movement. Music indiscriminately floats above everything, doing what music should never do in a film: draw attention to itself. Yet it is only discussed as in our example above. Johnny Greenwood's score is oft-putting and wonderful, but this point says nothing about how Anderson uses the music. Daniel Day-Lewis is an excellent actor, but what use is a talent when given no parameters? His performance is all over the place, and never once does it feel he embodies anything sincere. This is the scene where I need to act somber, this is the scene where I need to be livid; Paul Thomas Anderson should know better.

There Will Be Blood can be coupled with this year's other modernist western, No Country for Old Men. Both are perfect examples of an audience satisfied with what both films are best at: initial reactions. On the surface, the Coen Brothers and Anderson provide what feel like deep and resonant films. When we probe just a little below the superficial story, asking basic questions of the so-called complex themes, we find an oil field of emotion that is completely dry. As we elevate these movies, we need to first ask whether they (and their directors) are truly saying something, or are they leaving us with so many flailing ideas thrown at a wall, waiting to see which sticks. In either case, both works pale in comparison to the monumental and brilliant achievement of that other western, the one that challenges and satisfies, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford.